Daylight
by tomatojuice
Summary: It is Mary's 17th birthday, and she must prepare for a ball in her honor. However, the one person she realizes that she is hopelessly in love with cannot attend. MaryDickon.
1. Morning

_Daylight_

_Chapter One_

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Morning

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Mary Lennox sat alone in her garden that morning. It was a typically dark day, and the ground was wet with the night's glistening dew. The birds were singing their morning song of the sort you can often hear in springtime.

She sat on soft green grass next to the small pond with her legs bent in front of her listening to the chirping of different birds. The sound of their unique voices mingled merrily in the air.

Sighing softly, she turned her head up at the sky. Large puffy grey clouds filled the sky. They weren't rain clouds, but they still made the morning look dreary. Mary hoped that they weren't an indication of the way her day would unfold.

Her fingers slowly drifted over the surface of the little reflection pond. Delicately, she lifted her finger and watched as the little droplets of water fell from her skin and plopped back into the pool. It made a tiny circle of ripples that began sharp, but extended until they were no longer visible and the surface was just as smooth as it had been before.

Today was a very important day for Mary, according to Mrs. Medlock. For it was her 17th birthday and the date of her coming out ball.

She would be presented to society as a ripe young woman ready to be wed to a handsome and rich young man.

Ripe, was not the way she thought anyone would want to be described as, but unfortunately she knew that was how she would be perceived. Soon she would become a respectable wife and society hostess.

Everyone would be there. The entire local (if it could really be called local) society, friends of her uncle Archie, and Colin, of course. There would also be various family members that she had never met or seen before. Everyone except her dearest friend would be in attendance.

Dickon had insisted that he mustn't be there. That it was no place for him, saying that even if he would go, he wouldn't be allowed. Mary had of course protested, but he wouldn't be persuaded. He had smiled a sad sort of smile and gone about his work in the garden. It had saddened her heart greatly.

He had changed a bit from the round, pink little boy she had met all of those years ago. Now he was a fine worker. He tended to the many gardens on the manor grounds as an apprentice to old Ben Weatherstaff, and had consequently become a very strong and handsome young man. He quite frankly towered over her; by head and shoulders.

Though, she thought with a hidden smile, his face was still quite round and rosy, still speckled with numerous freckles. His eyes were still the color of the sky, and held the same childish spark that they always had. They were potentially the loveliest that Mary had ever beheld. She had never seen others exactly like them, with dark navy rings surrounding irises of the liveliest cerulean and cornflower.

His hair, like his eyes, hadn't changed very much over time either; it had simply gotten longer. Often, she couldn't decide what color it was. On a day like the present it would appear a dark reddish brown, almost like chocolate. But on a bright summers day it could look as orange as a copper plate.

Yes, he had been rather handsome for quite a time now. Though, she couldn't place just when it had happened. It had sort of snuck up over time without her noticing, only to leap out and surprise her now.

_Oh, the inconvenience of it all! _She thought, annoyed, ripping up a blade of grass and casting it to the ground again.

So lost in her thoughts as she was, she didn't hear the door open and close as the very man strode softly into the garden.

Dickon inhaled the clean, fragrant air of spring as he entered the garden, noticing the squelching of the wet ground beneath his shoes. It had rained the previous night. He was glad. It would be good for the flowers.

There in front of the pond, as usual, sat his dear friend Mary. She always arrived before him in the mornings. She looked lovely in the light blue day dress she wore, and the straw hat perched atop her head. He saw that she was getting her skirts wet from sitting on the ground, but she didn't seem to mind.

"G'mornin', Miss Mary." He greeted cheerily.

Her head shot up suddenly, her wide eyes focusing on him.

"Oh. Good morning, Dickon." She said. "You startled me."

"I'm sorry, I dinna' mean to." He apologized, and sat himself down next to her, crossing his legs and leaning onto the nearby tree.

She smiled shyly at him, and looked down to the hem of her skirt and started fiddling with it in her fingers, suddenly nervous.

"It's alright."

The ever-present smile fell from his lips as he watched her. She seemed lost in her thoughts. Her dark hair fell limply in front of her eyes.

"Wha's the matter, Miss Mary? Tha' is not thyself today."

The young woman's gaze flickered up to him, and she frowned slightly at his seeming ability to see right through her, still picking absently at her dress. She was afraid of what else he could notice.

"I'm only just worried about today." She murmured quietly, turning her head away towards the pond and resting it on her knees. Well it wasn't a lie, she thought, her mood beginning to drop as she thought of what lay in store for the day.

"Why's that?" He asked. "Every girl your age and stature must do the same. It canna' be so bad. It's a part of growing up."

Mary harrumphed. She had little desire to be like the girls she had seen in London. They weren't anything like the people at Misselthwaite, with the exception, somewhat, of Medlock perhaps.

"I don't want to grow up. Well, I do but…" she started, her voice trailing off, her ears becoming warm.

"Not so soon." Dickon finished for her.

"Yes." She said. "I'm not so sure that I want to live the way Medlock keeps telling me I should, either. I just wish I could stay here forever, with you and Colin in the garden."

The young man could not help but feel a bit elated at her statement. He so wished the same. He wanted her to be with him always, and the thought of her courting some rich man made his stomach churn in the most unpleasant way, but he knew he couldn't be so brave as to reveal this to her.

It was what was best for her. She deserved a man that could give her everything and anything that she desired.

Mary sighed. She would have to leave before long. The preparations for the ball would take quite a large sum of time, and Medlock wanted her back quickly to begin getting ready.

She looked back toward her friend and voiced this.

His mouth upturned the tiniest bit, and his cheeks pinked a little, in the sweetest way.

"Alrigh' then, Mary. Meet me here later on?" he asked.

"Oh yes, Dickon, of course." She answered, feeling a bit better when she remembered that they always met at nighttime on their birthdays. It was getting to be a bit of a tradition; celebrate her birthday in spring and his and Colin's in summer. And no dreadful ball was going to get in the way of it.

"Will Colin be able to come?" Dickon asked.

Mary chuckled, thinking of her slim, attractive cousin.

"Yes, if I can manage to tear him away from all of his admirers."

Dickon's eyes brightened and squinted as he laughed. It reached down into his chest, rumbling.

"Oh yes, I'd forgotten." He said. "Emily? Is her name?"

"I believe." Mary answered, giggling. "And also Miranda; you know the one visiting from _Spain._"

Colin spoke of this girl and that constantly; at breakfast, in the garden, at dinner, and every other hour of the day, and how he exchanged letters with them frequently.

"Aye, I remember."

Mary sighed, feeling at ease now.

"And, of course, the whole lot of them is invited." She alleged. "I suppose he would have come up with an occasion for a party even if it weren't my birthday, just to have them over."

Dickon smiled and shrugged, brushing his hands on his pants out of habit.

"You see? You are unhappy either way." He teased, standing up and offering a large calloused hand to her.

She heaved another sigh, and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

"May as well get it over with." She said, a sense of inevitable dread filling in the pit of her stomach.

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A/n: The next chapter will be out once I finish revising it. Review in the meantime and tell me what you think. 


	2. Preparations

_Daylight_

_Chapter Two_

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Preparations

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She gasped for air as her waist unmercifully shrank smaller and smaller.

It was now nearly dark outside, after a long day of preparing the old ballroom and greeting early arrivals, and Mrs. Medlock was taking the honors of lacing her corset on this important evening. She was being anything but gentle with her.

Mary gripped the thick wooden post of her bed until her knuckles were white. Her arms were shaking as the newly tailored undergarment took its place. It had been made to her measurements exactly, though hard to believe.

"Relax, the worst is almost over." Martha quietly assured from next to her, pushing a lock of hair from Mary's sweaty forehead.

"Tha' will be the most beautiful at the party, Miss Mary."

"Well of course she will." Mrs. Medlock said as she tied off the laces of the straight corset in the middle.

"She _is_ the birthday girl."

"Indeed Ma'am," Said Martha as she smiled warmly at Mary.

Mary looked down, and leaned her head against the post, smiling softly as she regained her breathing. It reminded her of Dickon; Martha had his round cheeks.

When she slowly turned around, she noticed Mrs. Medlock unfolding the dress onto the vanity chair, which had been moved to the side so that they could access the mirror and vanity with ease. It was beautiful, and glistening in the light from the oil-lamps.

The older woman met her gaze and smiled gently. It was something she rarely did. She looked at Martha and nodded.

Soon, they had lifted the gown over Mary's head and pulled it snugly around the corset.

Mary felt the smooth feather-light material of the loose sleeves as she slid her arms through them. They barely sat against her shoulders before draping, opening, and connecting again with miniscule, green butterfly-shaped pins all the way to just above her elbows. The rest of the fabric hung loosely to hit at her forearms.

It was like nothing she had ever worn before, and more revealing. As Martha and Mrs. Medlock buttoned the numerous tiny buttons that ran down the back, she gazed at the gown in the mirror.

It was the color of the cream she had with breakfast every morning. Soft and flowing to the floor, it was sinfully beautiful. There was a recurring theme of butterflies in the delicate lace that adorned the bodice and hem, although you had to look closely to notice them.

The smallness of her new womanly waist was emphasized by a wide, soft-green sash pinned at her back. She felt the unfamiliar touch of the air on her upper back, below her neck, where the dress tapered down to form a 'V'. It was supposedly very fashionable in London.

When Martha and Mrs. Medlock finished buttoning the dress, they urged her to sit down so that her hair could be arranged. It was traditional that a girl put her hair completely up for the first time at her coming out party.

Mary felt odd sitting in the gown; like she was crushing it. It seemed far too beautiful to be on someone as plain as she. She could barely feel the weight of it, on her legs, from under her chemise.

Mrs. Medlock carefully arranged the waves of Mary's plain brown hair on the back and top of her head, and secured them with several pins and combs; one of which gave the appearance of a large green butterfly perched in her hair. To have the air hit her neck felt very foreign.

Some minutes later, Mary felt the pressure of the woman's hands on her shoulders. She was ready. She looked at the old woman in the mirror, and was shocked to see tears glistening in her wrinkled eyes. Martha looked as if she were about to cry as well, but she was smiling.

"Are you ready, Mary?" asked Medlock.

Mary found that she couldn't articulate her words. At first she assumed she was getting choked up as well, but then she realized that it was mainly just the tightness of the corset.

So, she just sufficed with a small nod; though, she was most certainly_ not_ ready.

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A/n: Reviews make me happy! And they're so easy to write! 


	3. Celebrations

_Daylight _

_Chapter Three _

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Celebrations

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The ballroom was a monstrous gloomy thing normally; sort of stuck, as it was, onto the rest of the house. Mary rarely went in, and the doors were always kept locked. There had never been an occasion for its use. The previous week had seen all of the servants to scouring its floor, walls, and ceiling until it was restored to its intended luster. Even Dickon and Ben Weatherstaff had been called upon to help with the enormous amount of dusting and polishing.

And it looked positively wonderful, as Mary entered alongside Colin. The ceiling was high and vaulted, and the floor was so shiny that you could see reflections in it. The young woman found that she had to restrain her mouth from falling open. The large room was illuminated by the many oil lamps and sconces on the walls. However, the main source of light came from the glorious chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

As she turned her gaze to her cousin, he seemed just as shocked as she. His brown eyes were wide as they met hers.

"I never thought I'd see the day when father would open these doors." He said softly, "This room is bigger than I thought."

"Yes," Agreed Mary.

She had been in and out several times that day, but it didn't compare to seeing it then. It was filled with many illustrious people, dressed in the finest clothing. The men were polished and handsome, and the women were like the flowers in the garden, dressed in an array of colors and silken fabrics. Lovely music wafted around the dancers and idlers warmly, coming from a small orchestra of five or six players.

Mary looked at her cousin, to whom her arm was clutching nervously, as they walked together slowly. He wore a finely tailored black suit with a white tie. He looked more elegant than she had ever seen him look before; his hair combed neatly to the side.

"You look wonderful, Colin."

He smiled reassuringly at her, realizing her apprehensiveness.

"Thank you, but I must say that you look quite stunning yourself. You have nothing to worry about, Mary. Just smile at everyone who speaks to you." He advised.

She breathed as deeply as she could manage through her compressed lungs. She felt uncomfortable in the dress; her rather small breasts pushed up a bit more than she was comfortable with, and her upper back and neck exposed.

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Many people had acquainted themselves with her after a while. Most of them had wished her a happy birthday, and made various forms of small talk. She danced a bit with Colin, and once with her uncle.

Mary even met Miranda, Colin's pen friend, before they sauntered off together to the dance floor.

Miranda was a glorious beauty. With tanned skin and very black hair, which was unlike the indigenous paleness that seemed to plague every female in Britain, she was exotic. Mary could see Colin's infatuation for her in his eyes when he saw her in her deep red dress.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Mary," She had said in her thick accent.

Mary had smiled politely, and allowed her cousin to break away from her without a single glance back. He was enraptured. She felt a slight pang of something like hurt. Was it jealousy? No. She was very happy for Colin.

Perhaps, she only wanted someone to gaze at _her_ like that. But, wh-

"Excuse me, Miss. But, are you Mary?" Came a clear voice from her left, jerking her from her thoughts.

She whirled around, surprised, and came face to face with a pair of dark brown eyes. It was a young man, she realized as her eyes focused. He had dark hair and light smooth-looking skin.

"Urm, yes." She managed to answer without sounding too disconcerted.

The man smiled, and arched a sculpted eyebrow handsomely. He took her hand in his and pressed it to his rather warm and soft lips in greeting. It left a strange tingly feeling on her knuckle. No one had ever done that to her before.

"I am James Abbott." He said, "Son of Sir Walter Abbott of Bath."

Mary smiled faintly as she felt her cheeks flush.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, James. I am Mary Lennox." She said, "But, I erm, I suppose you already knew that."

"Yes, I did." He replied smoothly, "Your uncle has told me about you in his letters."

"L-letters?"

"Yes, he hopes that we can become friends. He believes we have much in common."

This took Mary aback. Since when had Uncle Archie been exchanging letters about her to people she didn't even know of? What had he said about her?

She must have looked flustered, because before she could open her mouth to speak, he asked,

"May I have the honor of a dance, Mary?"

James took her arm gently, without waiting for a reply, and pulled her into the twirling sea of dancers.

Before she could think, it seemed, his stiff hand was at her waist pulling her nearly against him, and his other hand clasped firmly around hers. He was so close that she could barely focus her eyes on his face.

He looked at her pointedly, and she hurriedly placed her other hand on his shoulder. She blushed profusely as they merged into the waltz.

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After a few dances, she had to struggle to catch her breath. She quickly dismissed herself to the refreshment tables, leaving James before he had a chance to follow.

Sure he was handsome, but rotten as a weed. He was extremely confident in himself, and spoke like he was superior to everyone. What did her uncle see in him that was so like her? He was a bit like her old self, perhaps.

He was nothing like Dickon.

_Where did that thought come from?_ She wondered, her hand freezing over the glass of red wine she was reaching for. The liquid was the same color as his lovely mop of hair appeared in the darkness of night.

"Mary! There you are." The voice of James reached her ears.

She started from her thoughts, and quickly took the glass.

"Why, James. How are you?" She took a small sip. It didn't taste very good.

She raised it to her mouth again anyway. Why wouldn't he leave her be?

"I have been looking all over for you. You simply disappeared." He sounded annoyed. "Is this the magic that you uncle speaks of?"

She nearly choked on her wine.

"Pardon me?" She whispered, feeling herself becoming infuriated.

A look of confusion passed his features for a brief moment before returning to an irritated scowl. He opened his mouth, but she interrupted.

"I am quite sorry, it was not my intention. Good evening to you." She said meekly.

Mary quickly turned her back on him and stalked, as quickly as her shoes would allow her, towards the door, dodging the conversation and beckons for her.

How dare her uncle tell him about the magic! Did he tell him about the garden as well? That was their secret,_ their_ sanctuary. Her uncle probably thought James a lovely candidate for her hand in marriage. She scoffed at the thought.

The air was stuffy and she needed to get out of there. Hopefully it wouldn't be too early to go and meet Dickon. When she was out of the ballroom, she hastily ducked into a hidden servant passageway when no one was watching.

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**Author's note:** Sorry about the delay, but I've been busy, and I wanted to make sure this chapter was the way I wanted it before I posted. There's only one left and I hope you won't be disappointed. Review, darlings! 


	4. Feelings

_Daylight _

_Chapter Four_

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__Feelings_

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As Mary stepped out into the dark, cool night she shivered a bit. She shut the thick wooden door quietly behind her. It was quite chilly, she realized as the gentle wind blew calmly across every bit of uncovered skin. Little bumps rose up all over her arms, and she could feel them too on her legs. Uncomfortable as they were, they did not, however, convince her to return to the contenting warmth that the house provided.

The last thing she wanted was to go back into that ballroom with James. She still couldn't believe her uncle would tell someone something that was so private to her. The thought made her colder still.

Nevertheless, she knew that the sight of Dickon and the high walls of the garden (which kept a lot of wind out) would warm her well enough. Sighing inaudibly, she made her way down the winding stone path that led to the gardens. She could navigate it just fine in the shroud of darkness, after using it nearly every day for many years.

Though, when it came time to transfer from the hardness of the path to the soft grass, Mary gave a startled yelp when the heel of her beige satin shoe sunk about a centimeter into the ground below it. Miraculously, she managed to keep her balance with her flailing arms and all. Which was a good thing; because she feared that she never would have been able to stand up again in the rigid gown.

Snorting, she mumbled, "Proper lady indeed."

She chuckled quietly; half-wishing Medlock could have seen her.

Bending down somewhat less than gracefully, Mary removed the heel of her shoe from the moist soil, and took the other off as well. Clutching them in one hand she used the other to hold up her gown, and made her way to the garden in her stockings. She felt a strange satisfaction knowing that she was getting them dirty. It served them all right. Also, her feet felt wonderfully relieved.

When Mary reached the intricately carved doorway, her hand paused on the way to opening it. Some strange wispy feeling engulfed her stomach in that moment. It made her feel remarkably light and odd.

What was this feeling?

It was internal, and spreading swiftly from the stomach and navel to all regions of her body. The fingers that curled around the heels of the smooth shoes suddenly fell limp and sent them tumbling into the grass. But, she hardly heard them.

She withdrew her hand from the decorated door slowly, and placed it over her stomach. It felt so strange that she was made a bit anxious. Nervous? She had rarely been so, especially on her way to the _garden_. And yet, why was she now? It was only Dickon. The calm, sweet boy she had come to know so many years ago.

_Only_ Dickon, she thought. Was this the same Dickon who had awakened these new feelings within her; was it he who was doing this to her? The one who had only become more beautiful with age? She couldn't deny that he had been in her thoughts quite a lot lately.

Perhaps she would ask him about it. Maybe if she felt this way, he would surely be feeling the same. And he knew the ways of things much better than she. He would understand what was happening to her.

Swallowing a curious lump in her throat, Mary pushed the door open.

The garden was only a little bit warmer than the air outside its walls; the wind's chill almost non-existent. She gradually descended the meandering stone steps. The pleasant and fragrant scent of the large white moonflowers wafted through the night air.

Then she saw him. Dickon's back was to her as he knelt in the moonlight, pulling weeds from a bed of budding lilies.

_The dear just never stops working anymore_, she thought to herself. But then again, that bed had been looking ghastly for days. He was quickly gathering a large pile of weeds next to him.

However, she didn't make her presence behind him known. Mary took the rare moment to study him; her dearest friend. He was wearing a white shirt and his brown woolen vest. His sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows in a futile attempt to escape the day's worth of earth marring his forearms. She felt her ears go strangely warm when the muscles there tensed as he yanked up a particularly stubborn plant.

An un-combed mop of dark hair topped off the scene, sticking out arbitrarily in places.

It was not a finely polished and groomed prospect; not rehearsed like the dreary debutante conversations in the ballroom. Not special in any way, or it shouldn't have been. But in that moment it seemed to Mary that nothing was more captivating than watching the simple young man before her, meticulously at work in their garden, with the moonlight streaming onto him through the boughs of trees overhead.

Abruptly, she was ripped from her daze when Dickon stood, clearing his throat quietly and swiping an arm across his forehead. Mary felt her body go tense, and the strange feeling in her belly returned tenfold. He didn't see her yet. Why didn't she say anything? She felt as if she couldn't speak.

Bending over, he gathered the pile of weeds in his arms and turned towards where she was standing. Visibly, he started, and the wiry serrated plants tumbled back onto the ground with a soft noise.

Dickon's eyes widened, when he recognized her. A heat like nothing else swarmed her neck and face in an instant. Perhaps she should have changed into a different dress, she thought as his wide blue eyes traced her form, and his mouth hung open slightly. It was not like him to look at anyone that way, and it made her knees go weak.

She would have laughed at his expression, if she didn't feel so utterly _naked_ under his gaze. It was nothing like how she felt when James or Colin had seen her that evening. She wished again that at least her hair was down to cover her neck.

Then, he seemed to come to himself, and a sweet blush crept onto his freckled cheeks. He smiled like only Dickon could, and she suddenly felt a bit more at ease. At least at ease enough to breathe.

"Miss Mary," he said quietly, "Tha' looks as lovely as the moonflowers."

If it were possible, her ears flamed even more, and she smiled at him coyly, having to avert her eyes to the ground lest she would collapse under his stare.

"Tis earlier than I expected thee." He said tentatively coming closer to her, the weeds forgotten on the grass.

Nodding, she looked up at him. She couldn't speak. She didn't _trust_ herself to speak. How could he be doing this to her? He was making her into a nervous blushing fool.

Dickon seemed to realize her predicament to an extent, and extended his elbow to her with a small teasing smile, straightening his posture.

"Willst tha' accomp'ny me for a stroll, Miss?" He asked, "I believe this is 'ow a proper gentleman does it."

Oh, she could have simply melted inside.

"It is." She replied demurely, finding her voice. "And I would love to."

Mary placed her hand in the warm crook of his arm, and they set off through the garden together. Their pace was slow, and Mary found herself getting lost once more in the absolute beauty of the garden. Its loveliness in darkness was only barely surpassed by the way it looked in bright daylight.

"How was the party?" Dickon inquired, she could feel his eyes looking down on her and the warmth radiating from his body being so near. Abruptly, it occurred to her how much closer he was to her than Colin had been earlier; they were nearly touching. _Heavens…_ She wondered if he noticed.

Groaning, Mary pushed her anxious thoughts away and relayed to him how exceptionally awful the ball was.

"Oh, Dickon, it was so dreadful! Of course it was beautiful, but I just couldn't spend another moment around those people."

She knew how hard the servants had worked to make it special for her, or rather the _important_ people in attendance, but she didn't want to appear to be unappreciative.

"All of the forced conversation, a-and the stiff clothing and dancing. It was so terrible! But the music was not so bad, and the hall was truly lovely. And then of course Colin left me all by myself when his dear Miranda showed up and whisked him away. I couldn't blame him though, for she really is as beautiful as he says. And-"

Looking at him, she thought she saw his lip twitch upwards as if he was trying not to smile, and he turned his head. Whatever it was he found humorous she wasn't sure.

"What is so amusing about this?" She demanded half-heartedly.

Dickon turned back to her and grinned.

"'Tis nothin' Miss Mary, ye were just ramblin' is all." He answered.

"Oh. I apologize. I got carried away." She said, her ears reddening.

"Aye." He laughed good-naturedly. "I am sorry tha' yer party dinna go so well. But I am glad ye' are here now. What made thee leave so soon? I was not expectin' tha until another hour or so."

With a sigh, she told him about James Abbott and how her uncle had been corresponding with him.

"He said that Uncle Archie believed we could be wonderful _friends_." She said venomously. "As _if_ that is what he took it to mean. And who knows what Uncle Archie expected from it. Well I can certainly say now that _nothing_ can be expected."

Mary stopped when she felt a warmth overtake the hand that was grasping onto Dickon's arm. His rough fingers were gently covering hers.

"Miss Mary, the fierce grippin' o' my arm 'as got to stop." He said pointedly, fixing those damnably blue eyes on her and his lip tugging upward.

Feeling the flaming of her cheeks for the thirtieth time, she released his elbow, feeling embarrassed, and their stroll came to a halt in front of the old swing. Regretfully, the air seemed to chill considerably without him nearly pressing against her side like he had been. An irrepressible little shiver pulsed through her body.

Thankfully, Dickon did not seem to notice as he was looking anywhere but at her. Oh, how he looked so _sweet_ with his fringe messy on his forehead. Swallowing her fear, Mary decided to find out what he knew about these strange feelings. Pensively, she sat down on the swing and chewed on her bottom lip.

"Dickon?" She asked, wincing inwardly at the crack in her voice.

"Yes, Mary?" The piercing azure irises fixed on her again.

"Have you ever felt strange?"

"Strange? Yes, I suppose I 'ave." He said with an air of confusion. "Wha' do tha mean?"

_Oh, dear this is more difficult than I thought._

"Urm, well, there is this one person, and whenever you see them you feel just… strange."

"Strange, like ill?"

"Not really, but sort of. Your legs feel as if they will melt, and there is this fluttery thing in your belly that happens whenever you see or think of them. The smallest things and details remind you of them."

"Perhaps tha' art worried about this person." He offered.

Mary shook her head.

"No. I do not believe that is it. It feels not so frantic as worry; more like an anxiousness that won't disappear. But it is not trepidation so much. Actually, it can be somewhat pleasant, but then again _not_. Sometimes your heart feels as if it is soaring, and other times running so quickly that you fear it will stop."

Dickon's brow furrowed and his lip turned down in thought, his hand gripping the rope of the swing.

"Well," he said at length, "It sounds as if tha' art in love."

"_Love_?" Mary squeaked meekly.

"Assuming that… it is a man that tha' feels strange for." He said steadily.

Feeling quite flustered, Mary cleared her throat.

"Oh, yes. It is."

"Ah." He conceded softly.

Mary knew that she felt something different for Dickon, but _love_? She found herself rising from her perch on the swing in bewilderment and moving a few paces away. She clenched her fists together nervously. Could he possibly feel the same?

"Mary?" his hushed voice sounded concerned as it floated over from behind her.

Dickon silently took one of her hands from behind and unfurled it gently, holding her palm against his.

"Who is it tha' loves?"

Once again, Mary's breath caught in her throat and her vision blurred. He sounded almost… sad.

"I-I…" She struggled to find the right words, but she couldn't see straight; the weight of the revelation was taking a toll on her thought process. The callused roughness of his hand felt so completely different from James' silky grip, but it was so perfect to her. Mary was barely aware of herself being turned around to face him. He looked at her for a long moment.

"Colin." He stated with the emptiest expression that she had ever seen on his face. He thought she was in love with her cousin? What could have made him think that? Colin and she had gotten over their childish attraction to each other years ago. He had Miranda after all.

"No!" She declared as soon as she gained use of her voice, shaking her head. "No. No, of course I am not in love with Colin."

"Oh." If it were possible, he seemed even more deflated than before, his eyes downcast and his mouth frowning. The ever-present color even seemed to flee from his cheeks. What was the matter with him? Couldn't he see?

"I-I think… that I'm in love w-with _you_, Dickon."

Dickon and his eyes immediately flickered up to meet with her uncertain ones with a fierce intake of breath. He looked as if he was taken completely off-guard. Stunned, he dropped her hand to bury his fingers in his hair, searching her face for signs of a lie.

"M-me?"

Never, that Mary could remember had she seen him so flustered. Dickon Sowerby was not one to stutter.

Apprehensively, she gnawed on her lower lip and nodded. Surely he was going to turn her away; things would never be the same between them again. The beginnings of tears stung behind her eyes. He did not return her feelings. She hoped that he was not disgusted with her. How could she have been so daft?

She certainly hadn't been expecting him to _grin._

Dickon's grin only grew wider and he took her face delicately in his hands.

"Miss Mary, tha looks like ye' want to weep. Why?" he asked, breathing heavily.

"You mean- you mean to say that you return my feelings?" Mary whispered incredulously.

"Oh, Mary. O' course I love thee." He breathed. "I always have. But, why _me_? I am only a poor moor lad, and there is little I could ever give tha. Tha could have any one o' those rich men at that ball, but _me_?"

Mary's heart swelled with a mixture of relief and love. It began to pound mercilessly at her chest, and she could hear the thump of it in her ears.

"But I wouldn't love them." She stated softly. "If you are right about these feelings being love, then I presume I have been in love with you for a long while now. I have never felt it for any other person."

Dickon looked elated, though his smile had receded and he looked more serene than maniacal, more like himself.

"Nor I, Mary."

Finally, she allowed herself to smile. She barely realized that they were once again nearer to each other than they had ever been. Her face was still encased by his large warm hands. It was intoxicating, and he appeared to be glancing down at her mouth.

"Mary?" He murmured.

"Yes?"

"May I kiss tha?"

After he asked, she couldn't stop herself from looking at his own lips. They were perfect, like a cupid's bow, and she had never experienced the touch of another person's mouth over hers. She realized how much she really was curious to discover how it felt.

Slowly, Mary nodded. She supposed that since they loved each other, that it would be alright. Lovers did this sort of thing, she heard.

When he leaned down, he moved slowly, and the anticipation was doing its part to make her legs begin to wobble. His eyes closed, and Mary figured that she must do the same.

It was like nothing that had ever occurred to her before. As Dickon's lips finally covered hers, in as light a kiss as she could imagine, she was taken aback by their softness. They felt like silk on her mouth. A small noise of pleasure escaped her throat before she thought to suppress it. This seemed to encourage him to press his lips more firmly against hers, and to tentatively move his hand to graze the nape of her neck. No one had ever touched her there like that before. It sent a tiny shiver down her spine, and all of the little hairs on her began to stand on end.

Timidly, Mary raised her hands to clasp at the fabric around his collar, to make certain that he was tangible and real. Their lips began to move together in an unsure pattern of bashful inexperience. He tasted so very sweet and exactly as one would imagine he tasted. It could only be described as heaven, with the blissful floral scent of the garden surrounding them.

After a few moments that seemed much longer than they really were, the two separated. She noticed that Dickon's lips were slightly swollen and red. She could hardly fathom that she had _done_ that to someone, let alone that he had done the same to her. He leaned his forehead down to rest against hers.

_Dickon just kissed me._

Mary found herself beaming like the universe's greatest idiot. Luckily, Dickon looked just as euphoric, his eyes dancing.

"Mary?" He murmured once again.

"Yes, Dickon?"

"Happy Birthday."

Then he leaned in to kiss her once again.

* * *

**A/n: Ah, alas it is finally over. I cannot apologize enough for the ghastly long wait, but I had quite the case of writer's block halfway through writing this chapter. Let me tell you, you don't understand that stuff until you experience it. I hope that it turned out well enough for your liking, but please send me a review to let me know what you think. All of my reviews are greatly appreciated, and I thank everyone who took the time to send one. They often played a roll in inspiring me to update. Thanks for reading! **


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